Harry Potter and the Isle of Redemption
by Mayqueen
Summary: Did someone say just another 6th year story. It may seem like it in the first few chapters, but I assure you, it becomes different. H/d slash, slight H/G and R/Hr
1. How to live a lie

Chapter One  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own, Can't pay, don't sue  
  
  
  
"I know that he is it, Father. I really, really know it for sure."  
  
"Are you sure your perceptions aren't a little colored by the fact that you are besotted with him?"  
  
"Father, ever since I was born, you have been training me for just one purpose – to find the Magid, and to serve him. All those fencing classes, all the dueling training, all those prophecies you made me read and interpret, they were all concentrated on one goal – finding the Magid. I think I know enough to recognize the Magid. Possibly, I know even more about the Magid than you do. Everything fits. You know that. The fact that I've been in love with him for the last three years has nothing to do with it."  
  
"All right, I'll take your word for it. But who's going to tell him? He would never believe either of us, and I don't blame him. He thinks you're his worst enemy, and he thinks I am the Dark Lords servant. How can we tell him that you know that he was the Magid from the minute you saw him? How can we tell him that I sent you to Hogwarts so that you could keep an eye on him? How can we tell him that he is our only hope against the Dark Lord? He isn't going to listen to us, Draco."  
  
"Maybe we can ask Dumbledore to tell him. Father, he is going to turn seventeen next year, and you know the kind of awesome powers a Magid achieves when he comes of age. If nobody tells him, and he doesn't know how to control it, you know it can mean disaster. A catastrophe on a scale which has yet been unparalleled by Voldemort."  
  
"Don't call him that. Draco. It isn't wise."  
  
"Harry does it."  
  
"Harry is the Guardian of the light. He can get away with a lot that we ordinary mortals can't even imagine attempting."  
  
"Father, I did offer him my hand in friendship. I wish he had taken it."  
  
"So do I, Draco, but things don't always work out the way we want them to. And insulting the Weasely boy was not the smartest step. I know we are supposed to pretend to be the Dark Lords slaves, but some tact at calculated periods is not uncalled for. But you have sustained a good act, and I am proud of you. Now, there are five people who know that you and I are the chosen Protectors of the Golden Magid – Dumbledore of course, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Arabella Figg and Arthur Weasely."  
  
"Weasely knows? And he believes it? After what you did to his daughter all those years ago."  
  
"The Chamber of Secrets had to be opened, and I, like you, was unaware of the fact that Harry was a parselmouth. By the time I did find out, it was too late. Tom Riddle was already too powerful to call back."  
  
"Why, why did the Chamber of Secrets have to be opened? Tell me, father. I am in this deep enough. I deserve to know."  
  
"Draco, it was a test. A test performed with Dumbledore's permission. We had to see if he was the Guardian of the Light. We had our suspicions, but we needed proof. That is why Dumbledore pretended to leave, and that is why the Weasely girl was taken. He loves her. She is like a sister to him. We knew that he would follow. And when he was successful in summoning the Sword of Gryffindor, our hunch was confirmed. He was the warrior the prophecies spoke of."  
  
"A test! You forced a twelve-year-old boy to fight a full-grown basilisk, and you call it a test?"  
  
"Draco, you have to understand that as a Protector, particularly one who has to pretend to be on the Dark side, you have to make decisions that go against your grain. It was a calculated risk."  
  
"I see. I'm sorry I lost my temper father. You did what had to be done. It's just I love him so much, and the thought of him being hurt tears me through and through."  
  
"I know, Draco, and I'm sorry for you. This kind of connection to someone you're supposed to protect can be agonizing. But we have no time to waste, my son. We have very little time left to us to decipher the rest of the prophecy. Read it to me again."  
  
"Through darkness he will rise to light  
  
Through death he will rise to life  
  
Through hate he will rise to love  
  
And in love he will find forgiveness  
  
He will battle the powers of fear that prevail  
  
And time and time again he will feel he has failed  
  
Four will come to smooth his way, one to guide him  
  
One to adore him, and two to fight beside him.  
  
And on the night of the solstice when darkness reigns  
  
He will find victory through the paths of pain  
  
And as the forces of his soul unite  
  
The boy of gold will be triumphant in his fight"  
  
"The boy of gold is obviously Harry, the Golden Magid. After all he has defeated the Dark to become the Guardian of the Light. He has faced death and emerged unscathed. After all he is 'The Boy who Lived.' I don't know what they mean by hate to love and love to forgiveness, but I'm sure we'll find out. The two to fight beside him are probably Ron and Hermione. I don't know who the one to adore him is, nor do I know who the guide is. Any ideas, Draco?"  
  
Draco blushed, but shook his head. "Couldn't the one to guide him be Dumbledore?"  
  
Lucius rejected the suggestion. "Impossible. A parallel prophecy clearly states that the guide is young, possibly younger than Harry. Anyway we'll have to see. Now, for the solstice. I'm not very sure if they mean the summer solstice or the winter solstice. Whichever it is, I need you to research and find out whether either fall on a moonless night, or on a lunar eclipse. That is when the battle will be fought. That much is clear. I'm afraid I don't understand the rest. I know the reference to the elements means a release of his Magid powers, but I am afraid I have no clue about the paths of pain. That's the closest I can get to complete interpretation of the prophecy."  
  
Draco frowned. "There is something we are missing. As the Protectors, there should be a reference to us. Why isn't there?"  
  
Lucius shrugged. "I really don't know, Draco. That struck me too. There should be a reference to us. There must be a reason why it isn't there."  
  
"Of course there is a reason, Lucius. It's a rather obvious one when you come to think of it. How can you play an active part in a prophecy if you are dead?" Said a cold voice from the door.  
  
"Lord Voldemort!"  
  
"Yes Lucius, your avowed Master and Liege, Lord Voldemort. Bow to me, Lucius."  
  
Lucius found his backbone curving, and knew that the Dark Lord had used the same spell on him that had been used on Harry Potter nearly two years ago. He knew then that Voldemort knew. He also knew what he had to do. He fell to his knees sniveling and whimpering in simulated fright. "Forgive me, my lord. I was wrong. I should never have doubted your strength, and I should never have tried to help that Potter boy. Please, my lord, please…"  
  
"Oh Lucius, desist. Acquit me of stupidity. Do you really think that I would believe that the Protector of the Golden Magid would grovel in front of a mere Dark Lord. Naturally not. Perhaps I should bow to you instead. Get up, traitor." Lucius felt an invisible hand squeeze his shoulder blades until he straightened up. Voldemort continued, "Let me inform you that I was aware that Harry Potter was the Golden Magid even before you were. You see, Sibyl Trelawney had made a prediction. I believe it was her only true prophecy. Luckily only Wormtail was in the room during this event and he of course was too stupid to appreciate. Fortunately he was intelligent enough to repeat it to me. Now let me see, how did it go? 'From the line of the lion, will come the stag. When the stag unites with a pure bloom, the stars will align and the Golden Savior shall be born.' It was obvious to the meanest intelligent that she meant Gryffindor's heirs and I knew James Potter was the several greats grandson of Godric Gryffindor. I admit however that I wasn't sure of who or what the pure bloom was until he married the mudblood. But I ask you, Lucius, Lily! It was making things too easy. The Golden Magid was their child. Obviously that is why I tried to kill him. We all know what happened after that, don't we? Now haven't you been wondering why for the last year I haven't made any attempts on his life? I'll tell you. It's because the day he turns seventeen, he will become vulnerable. With vulnerability will come chaos. That chaos will make things a lot easier for me. With you and your son dead, there will be no one who can train him, no one with sufficient knowledge. No, not even your precious Dumbledore. So you see, I have to kill you."  
  
Now Lucius stood straight, his gray eyes trained intently on Voldemort's serpentine face. Draco stood a few steps behind his father, his slim body tense. Voldemort stepped forward, twirling his wand idly. "So, Lucius, tell me. Any last wishes?"  
  
Lucius nodded tersely. "Tell me something, Tom Riddle. Who told you that Draco and I were the Protectors?"  
  
Voldemort smiled unpleasantly. "I wondered when you were going to ask, my dear Lucius. It was Narcissa, of course. At least one Malfoy remains faithful."  
  
Draco's jaw went slack with shock. Though there was no love lost between Draco and his mother, he hadn't expected this. Lucius, on the other hand, looked unsurprised. He bent his head in acknowledgment and then before any of the Death Eaters could move, he swung his wand up and muttered "Armorum Protectorius". A shimmering blue shield surrounded both him and Draco. "Remember my lessons in Apparation, Draco. Go now!" Draco immediately disapparated. Lucius was about to do the same when the shield shattered and he found several Death Eaters surrounding him, holding him tight.  
  
"Better than I had expected, Lucius. But I'm afraid not good enough. My men will track your son down and you will die wondering what fate lies in store for him. Goodbye Lucius." The last thing Lucius Malfoy ever saw was a flash of green light heading directly at his eyes.  
  
**************  
  
The same green flash shone in front of Harry Potters eyes as he surged into sudden agonizing consciousness.  
  
This is my first m/m slash story. I'm female and straight, and every time I ask my gay friends they refuse to tell me anything, so if I make any goof- ups please bear with me. Also, please review. Hell, if you want to flame. But review. 


	2. To know the worst

Chapter Two  
  
Disc: If I owned Harry potter, I wouldn't be begging for reviews, and I wouldn't be labeling it fanfiction. So go figure.  
  
Dear Snuffles  
I had a dream last night. One of my 'dreams.' Voldemort was killing someone in it. I think it was Lucius Malfoy. I'm not very sure, but I think Narcissa Malfoy betrayed him. Draco escaped. Voldemort was after his life too, for reasons beyond my comprehension. It seems that Lucius was an agent for the light side. Why else would Voldemort want to kill him? Voldemort also mentioned somebody called the Golden Magid or the Golden Savior. He said that the Magid would bring chaos in his wake. If you can make head or tail of that, it's more than I can do. I'm afraid I can't remember the dream very clearly, but I do know that Voldemort was furious. My scar was burning rather badly. Please convey this to Dumbledore. I hope you're ok. Take care.  
  
Love,  
Harry.  
  
Harry signed the letter with a flourish, put it in an envelope, sealed it and went to Hedwig's cage. He opened it and gentle tickled the sleeping bird on the neck. She drowsily nipped his finger and he smiled. "Wake up sleepyhead," he said affectionately. "I want you to take this to Sirius." Hedwig stretched her wings, took the letter and flew out of the window. Harry's eyes wistfully followed her, as she soared across the dark sky. Then, with a sigh, he returned to bed.  
  
******************  
  
While Harry was writing to Sirius, Draco Malfoy was creeping quietly down the alleys of muggle London, assuming correctly that Soho was the last place Voldemorts goons would be looking for him. Unfortunately his knowledge of the area was also negligible and he was blindly walking around, desperately hoping for a miracle. Then, as it happens so rarely, the much longed for miracle did happen. A familiar voice said acerbically, "Mr. Malfoy, may I ask what you are doing here. With a gasp of relief Draco flung himself at Severus Snape. Snape distastefully disentangled himself, and looked down at the younger man, who seemed on the verge of collapse. Draco stood a good four inches shorter than Snape's 6'1 and was lightly built to boot. Snape half dragged, half carried him to a corner.  
  
"Come with me, Mr. Malfoy." Said Snape, his eyes scanning the area skillfully for any sign of danger. Finding none, he dragged Draco down a thin corridor of darkness, which was invisible to the ordinary muggle eye. He reached, what seemed to be, an ordinary brick wall. In Morse code, he quickly tapped SOS, and after a pregnant pause, a door swung open. Remus Lupin stared at his old enemy's face, and with fluid gesture ushered them in. Once inside, Snape loosened his grip and Draco slid to the ground, completely spent, while Remus and Snape gazed down at him, both their faces mirroring an identical expression of anxiety.  
  
"What happened, Severus?" asked Remus, his eyes shadowed.  
  
Snape shrugged. "I'll be damned if I know. I was returning from Knock' turn Alley, where I had been buying some Potions ingredients, and I turned into a lane. I caught sight of a glint of blonde hair, was immediately wary, went closer and found it was Malfoy. When I spoke to him, he seemed to be very glad to see me, but he was in no fit state to talk. He couldn't tell me anything. It took me all my strength to bring him this far. He was absolutely battle weary. It was awful. I've seen it in horses, Remus, but I've never seen it in a human being."  
  
Remus bit his lip. "I'm worried, Severus. I am very worried. Why is one of the Protectors running for his life in Muggle London? Where is Lucius? What's going on?"  
  
"I think I might be able to help." Came a voice from the kitchen door.  
  
Remus whipped around. "Sirius, what do you mean you might be able to help? You don't even know what's going on?"  
  
Sirius Black stepped into the room and grinned at his friend. "Azkaban is supposed to make you go mad, not stupid. I've spent the last year in this dump of yours. I've heard your conversations with Grease-ball here, and Dumbledore. I think I have a pretty good idea about what's going on. It's about Harry being the Magid and the Malfoy's being the protectors, isn't it?  
  
Remus made a mental note to lecture Sirius about the ills of eavesdropping, but this was not the time. They had more pressing matters at hand. "But I still don't see what you mean? How can you know what's going on?"  
  
Sirius held up a letter. "Harry and his hotline to You-know-Who's brain. He saw the entire thing. Fortunately he does not have a complete memory of the dream, so he hasn't flown off the hook about being the Magid yet. But he can give us the bare bones of what happened to young Malfoy here."  
  
Snape extended his hand for the letter, but Remus stopped him. "Don't you think we should owl Dumbledore first?"   
  
Sirius nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we can use Hedwig. She's still here and Harry won't mind."  
  
"Fine. Do as you like. I'm going to see to Mr. Malfoy." Said Snape calmly. With Sirius's help, he carried the boy to the bedroom where they unceremoniously dumped him on the bed. Then they went out to join Lupin in the wait for Dumbledore.   
  
Luckily for all of them, the wait was short. In less than an hour, with a sweep of his robes, Dumbledore strode in. "What's the matter? Why the urgency?"  
  
By tacit consent Lupin spoke. "It's Draco Malfoy. He's here."  
  
At this bald statement, Dumbledore's admirably balanced face showed surprise. "Mister Malfoy here? Why?"  
  
Lupin continues. "It's Voldemort. He found out about Lucius and Draco, and we were right, he knows about Harry. Lucius is dead, but Draco got away. He managed to make it so far. Fortuitously Severus found him and brought him here. He's unconscious, naturally very exhausted. We got our information from Harry who had one of his dreams. We were about to go down to the Malfoy Manor, but I thought it was advisable to let you know first."  
  
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed as Lupin wound up. "Do any of you realize what this means?"   
  
Snape nodded, "Yes, the Protector is dead."  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "No Severus, it's more than that. The only man in the Wizard World with sufficient knowledge to train the young Magid is dead. Next year Harry will turn seventeen and there is no one to prepare him."  
  
Lupin stared at Dumbledore. "What about Draco, Professor? He has the knowledge, doesn't he?"  
  
Dumbledore looked sad. "Unfortunately Mister Malfoy does not know enough. After all he is only sixteen himself. Though he has prepared all his life for this, it just isn't enough. And no one else knows enough either. It isn't really a very common field of study. A lot of people believe Magids to be myths. After all, Harry is the first Magid since…" Dumbledore stopped short. "Of course! I should have thought of that earlier." He whispered to himself. He looked at the three men sitting in front of him. He had known them since their first year in Hogwarts, and knew that in their very different ways, they were fiercely loyal and committed. Remus sat quietly; his light brown eyes, flecked with gold, trained on his hands, which lay folded on his lap, thin, strong hands, hands of a healer. His hair was also brown, but streaked with premature gray. His lean, high-boned, ascetic face was tired and drawn, but gentle, the face of a monk. Remus was eminently reliable, quiet and perseverant.   
  
On the other end of the couch sat Snape, equally still, but his silence had the tautness of a bowstring to it. Fathomless black eyes, blazing with years of anger. A shoulder length mop of black hair fell around an ivory white face, the features strong, self-willed and brooding.  
  
Finally his eyes fell on Sirius, who was restlessly pacing the length of the room, and he smiled. Even when the boys had been in school, Sirius had been his favorite of the three. Tall, lean, with dark blue eyes and a head of dark hair, Sirius had the Irish good looks of his mothers family. He had also assimilated the not inconsiderably Irish charm. Even twelve long years in Azkaban had not completely dispelled the mischief in Sirius Black's eyes. But Sirius was not all charm. In crunch situations, Sirius was implacable. Brilliant, ruthless and absolutely fearless in war, Sirius was the perfect soldier.  
So there you had them. Strategist, spy and warrior. Each performing their allotted tasks admirably! And now they were waiting for him to give them orders. He looked at Remus. "Remus, I want you to go and get Harry immediately. I will brook no delay. Severus, I want you to go to Malfoy Mansion. See if you can retrieve any of Lucius's notes. Sirius, I want you to alert Arthur Weasely and Arabella immediately. We reconvene in two hours at Hogwarts. All right?"  
  
The three of them nodded. Dumbledore continued. "I myself have some people to meet. Remus, is Draco safe here?"  
  
Remus nodded. "Yes, I gave him one of Severus's sleeping draughts. He should sleep for at least 17 more hours. There is also a locking charm on the room. I've activated it. He'll be fine."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Very well then. Two hours."  
  
A beam of moonlight shone on Soho and lit up an alley. Everything seemed to quiet, everyone asleep. But, as if from nowhere, three figures and a dog materialized and disappeared in different directions without exchanging a word. And then all was peaceful again.   
  
  
O.K, it's really depressing not to get a single review, so please please review. Do you guys want me to beg? I can do that. 


	3. Learn the bitter truth

Chapter 3  
  
Disc: You know the drill, I don't own, you don't sue, everyone is happy.  
  
Harry tossed and turned uneasily. Since his nightmare, he wasn't able to sleep properly. Every time he drifted off, he dreamt of blood and flashing swords and screaming. After some troubled sleep, Harry decided to stay awake and finish some homework. He pulled out parchment, a quill and some reference books, and gazed gloomily at his History of Magic assignment. 'Write a five foot essay on the age o Merlin. Emphasize on the sharp change in magical trends Pre and post Merlin.' Harry rolled his eyes. All he knew about Merlin was what he had read on Chocolate Frog Cards and to be perfectly honest he didn't care to know very much more. But he started writing. "Merlin was reputedly the greatest of the medieval wizards. Known as Taliesin, he was an accomplished bard and poet, as well as a wily manipulator. He served Ambrosius as well as Ambrosius's successors Uther and Arthur Pendragon. He had unimaginable magical powers, and was supposedly trained in…" Harry's pen spluttered to a stop, as he heard a noise outside.  
  
Harry's fingers clasped around his wand, as he stood up in a single fluid gesture. He pulled on jeans and a loose sweatshirt. He opened the door quietly and slipped out. He was thankful for his dark clothes. It meant he was more or less invisible in the dark. Also he was rather good at sneaking around at night. He had done it everyday in the vacations. That was when he robbed food to eat, and that was when he worked out. Harry knew the use of good reflexes and physical strength in the art of Self-defense. So he exercised religiously. Now he was more or less prepared to meet the threat, muggle or wizard.   
  
He crept down and went to the back door. The noise had come from the back garden. Gripping his wand tighter, he slid the door open, and tiptoed out. He found his suspicions were confirmed. A man dressed in dark robes stood in the garden, wand in hand. Harry pointed his own wand at the man and whispered, 'Stupefy'. The beam of light hit the other wizard in the stomach, and he keeled over. Very satisfied with himself, Harry strode over to the prostrate foe and pulled the hood off. Then with a guilty gasp, Harry hurriedly muttered, 'Enervate.' Remus's eyes fluttered and then opened and settled on Harry.   
  
"Hello, Harry. Is this how you greet all your guests?" asked Remus with a grin, reminiscent of his Marauder days.  
  
Harry pulled Remus up. "What are doing you here at this unearthly hour of the morning, Professor Lupin?"  
  
"It's Remus, Harry. I'm not going to be called Professor, while Sirius gets away with being called by his first name. Anyway it isn't correct anymore, you know. I'm here to take you to Hogwarts. Something urgent has come up. I can't tell you what right now, but you'll know when you get there."  
  
Harry nodded. "I'll just go get my stuff."  
  
Remus shook his head. "No need for that, Harry. Just grab your wand and we'll be off."  
  
"What about my broomstick and the homework, and all the rest of that stuff."  
  
"Trust me, Harry. Your homework is the last thing you should be bothered about. Everybody'll excuse you. Right now we have very little time. We have to reach Hogwarts in half an hour, and the nearest wizard fireplace is at least three miles away."  
  
Harry frowned. "Five miles? What about Ms. Figg?"  
  
"Negative. She's on a mission and her fireplace has been temporarily disabled. So we have to use the Robinson's fireplace. And since they are not a part of the resistance, we have to sneak in. Not that you should have much of a problem, Harry. I never even heard you coming up to me. Oh, and by the way, nice 'Stupefy.'" Harry had the grace to blush.  
  
Harry nodded. "O.K. Remus, let's go. I'm glad I don't have to take my trunk with me. The idea of lugging a fifty plus kilo weight for three miles does not sound appealing."  
  
Remus laughed. "Follow me, Harry. And try to keep up, will you? We werewolves are notoriously agile and strong." Harry's only reply to that was a disbelieving snort.   
  
Even though Harry found it easy enough to keep pace with Remus, he also found that the brisk pace left no room for idle conversation. Remus strode rapidly through the roads of Surrey, throwing comments like, "Next left!" or "First turn to the right!" over his shoulder. Finally he stopped. "All right, Harry. We're here." Harry looked up at the house. It was a large house, built on picturesque old English lines. It had the requisite vines climbing up its side, the red brick walls, the large knocker. It was rather lovely, but Remus didn't give Harry much time to look at it. He pulled the boy to a side and pointed. "See that drainpipe, Harry. Do you think you'll be able to climb it?"  
  
Harry gave the older man a look of cool amusement and walked up to the drainpipe. He tested his weight on it lightly, and then swung himself up. He swarmed up it like a professional acrobat, and, on reaching the window, dropped quietly inside. Remus watched with amazement, and then followed, climbing the pipe with less grace, but adequate efficiency. Reaching the room, he looked suspiciously at his ex-student. "You're too good at this, Harry. You climbed that pipe like a cat."  
  
Harry just gave him an ingenuous grin, "Yeah, you weren't bad either." Remus burst out laughing and relaxed.  
  
Harry had traveled by Floo powder often enough, but he didn't like it very much. He watched with distaste as Remus pulled out a pouch of the green powder and threw some of it on to the flames. The flames shot up and turned emerald. Remus gestured to Harry. Harry stepped forward, shouted, "Hogwarts, Dumbledore's office." He walked into the flames, went flying through the portals and landed face down in front of Dumbledore's feet. He took Dumbledore's proffered hand, stood up and dusted himself off. He looked ruefully at his shattered glasses. "I doubt if even Reparo is going to fix this one, Professor."  
  
"That's alright, Harry. We'll fit you with new glasses soon. Or maybe we'll just fix your eyes, if you prefer this look. We can decide that later. Come with me now." As Harry followed Dumbledore out, he heard Remus make a far more dignified entry through the fireplace. Dumbledore took Harry to a large room, which he had never seen before. "This, Harry is the conference room. We have a lot to tell you as soon as everyone else joins us."  
  
Harry frowned. "Everyone else?" he started to ask, when Sirius walked in, followed by Mr. Weasely, Arabella Figg, Ron and Ginny, Hermione and Severus Snape. Harry threw himself into his godfathers' arms, which fastened convulsively around him. When Harry finally let go, he beamed at his best friends, who looked as confused as he felt. He also grinned at Mr. Weasely of whom he was very fond.  
  
Before the trio could begin a joyous reunion, Dumbledore calmly ordered, "Please sit down, everybody."  
  
Obediently everybody took their places. Dumbledore sat at the head, with Lupin on one side and Mr. Weasely on the other. On Lupin side sat Sirius, Harry and Hermione. Nest to Mr. Weasely was Arabella, followed by the two Weasely siblings. Severus Snape seated himself at the foot. "The first meeting of the Order of the Magid will now commence."  
  
"Severus, where is Draco?" asked Dumbledore. All the teenagers, excepting Harry, shot each other confused glances.  
  
"Still asleep, Professor. Sometime I don't know my own strength when I'm brewing."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. "Then I'm afraid I must start without him. Now you must be wondering why this urgent meeting has been summoned. Some of us present here know what is going on, others don't. For the sake of the latter, I will fill in some details. Now, I am sure you know that Rowena Ravenclaw was a seer. By that I mean a true seer." Ron muttered 'Trelawney' to Harry, and both choked, but a glance from Dumbledore squashed them. "One of her famous prophecies was about the rise of a Dark Lord, the heir of another dark lord. Orphaned young, speaking the serpents tongue and so on, so forth. Obviously it is about Voldemort. But what is less well known is that there was a parallel prophecy. We didn't know about this prophecy till about six years ago when Lucius Malfoy brought it to me. We found it among his papers. I will read it out to you.   
  
"Through darkness he will rise to light  
Through death he will rise to life  
Through hate he will rise to love  
And in love he will find forgiveness  
He will battle the powers of fear that prevail  
And time and time again he will feel he has failed  
Four will come to smooth his way, one to guide him  
One to adore him, and two to fight beside him.  
And on the night of the solstice when darkness reigns  
He will find victory through the paths of pain  
And as the forces of his soul unite  
The boy of gold will be triumphant in his fight"  
  
He looked at the blank faces turned towards him, and continued with a sigh. "A lot of research on Mr. Malfoy's part told us one thing. The Boy of Gold is a twist on the Golden Magid, an incredibly powerful wizard of legend. Magids are rare, very rare. They have absolute control over wandless magic and they have complete power over at least one element. Lastly, and most importantly, they are necromancers. Now, magic comes from a source and for Magids this source emanates more power. If the Magid hasn't learnt to control these powers by his or her seventeenth birthday, this source goes out of control and there is imbalance and hence Chaos."  
  
He drew a deep breath. What he was going to say was not going to be easy for anyone, particularly Harry. "Harry, you are the Golden Magid. Yes, I know it's come as quite a surprise to some of you, but you'll have enough time to discuss it later." Disregarding the gasps that went up around him, he continued, "Ron, Hermione Lucius thought, as I think that you are the ones who will fight beside Harry. I'm afraid the rest is still a blur to us. Not the problem is that Voldemort found out about Lucius. Lucius Malfoy was the chosen Protector of the Golden Magid, as is Draco. One is dead and the other ill qualified to train the Magid."  
  
Only Snape had the self possession to ask, "But, Professor, who will train the Magid?"  
  
Dumbledore looked at them, his lips curved in a slight smile. "When I heard about Lucius's death, I was perplexed. Magids are so rare that you don't have people capable of training one alive anymore. And then it came to me in a flash. One of my more brilliant ideas! The last known Magid was Taliesin. Taliesin was a trained Magid. Where did he train? That was where Harry would have to go."  
  
Three voices - Hermione, Harry and Ron said together, "AVALON?"   
  
  
Yay, I got three reviews last time. But I'm afraid I'm kind of difficult to satisfy. So please please keep reviewing. It means a lot to me.  
  
Thanks go to:  
James: Thanks, that's really encouraging. Keep watching that space. I'm going to put up a new chapter everyday at least for the next one week.  
  
Fan: Thanks, here's more. Keep reviewing and I'll keep writing. Well, that's not strictly true. I'll write anyway, Reviews are just an added bonus  
  
Aloe: I'm really glad you like it. Your review was great, very helpful. Unfortunately I am no good at writing Slash smut. Lack of experience I suppose. So this is going to stay romantic, not smutty. Romance is going to come up somewhere around the seventh chapter. As for the D/H/G problem, wait for the fifth chap. I have a twist planned. 


	4. Coming home

Chapter Four  
  
Disc: Don't own nothing. Don't sue for nothing. (Do two negatives make a positive? I can never remember.) Harry and friends belong to J.K. Rowling, Avalon and everything related to it is inspired by Marion Zimmer Bradley's Mists of Avalon, though of course I've taken liberties. If you haven't read it, do!  
  
Draco heard voices around him, talking volubly. He wanted to, but couldn't, make out what they were saying. He was so sleepy, so very tired. He was about to sink back into stupor, but the darkness of consciousness was pierced by one voice, "I can't be the damn Magid. I don't want to be the damn Magid. As if it isn't bad enough being The Boy who Lived!" It was a familiar voice, a beloved voice. Memories came rushing into Draco's head and he sat up covered with sweat.  
  
"Glad you could join us, Mr. Malfoy." said Snape suavely. "I hope you're feeling better now."  
  
Draco nodded. "Yes, thank you, Professor." He looked around. He was in a room in Hogwarts, that much was obvious. The room seemed to be crowded with people. As his vision improved, the people coalesced into a mere handful. He let his eyes rest on each of them. Ron and Ginny Weasely, Hermione Granger, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, and of course, Harry Potter.  
  
Remus, the eternal nice guy, shot Draco a smile. "Mr. Malfoy, we won't trouble you to give us an account of what happened. We, more or less, pieced everything together. Why don't you go take a bath, freshen up? When you come back we'll brief you."  
  
Draco nodded. He unsteadily rose to his feet and stumbled towards the bathroom. He was still shaky, and almost fell, when Harry put out a friendly hand to steady him. "Easy there, Malfoy. Take it slow." The younger boy said with a smile. Draco looked at him for a long second, jerked his arm away, and kept going.   
  
As he disappeared down the corridor, Ron shot Harry a surprised glance. "What's eating him?"  
  
Harry shrugged, "Do I look like I know? Well, I guess he's been through a lot. Let's give him a break, all right?" The other three nodded and Harry continued, "Now can we get back to my problem please? I still can't get used to it. Why me? I'm not particularly talented, not particularly bright. All in all, I should be leading an average life. Why is all this happening to me then?"  
  
Sirius looked at him sympathetically and was about to speak, when Dumbledore spoke from the door. "Harry, once there was a person faced with a very similar predicament. He was the son of a carpenter, a young ten-year-old boy, who was told that he was the Son of God. He was told that he would have to teach the one true faith, and would have to die for his beliefs. Can you imagine what it must have been like for him? It isn't that bad for you. You have a war to fight, and you will probably win. There is a strong possibility that you will come out of this unscathed. I know your power seems like a curse, but use it like a blessing. And when in fear, think of that young boy who showed the world the power of peace."  
  
Harry bowed his head in acquiescence. "Very well Professor, I will go to Avalon."  
  
Ron and Hermione nodded furiously, "So will we." Hermione said. "I've always wanted to know about Avalon. No one is really sure whether it's myth or fact, and I'm going to see it for myself. That's so exciting."  
  
Ginny cut in. "Professor Dumbledore, it's obvious what Ron and Hermione are doing here. They are Harry's best friends and they're mentioned in the prophecy. But could someone please tell me what I'm doing here? What part am I to play in this rather complex scheme?"  
  
Dumbledore drew Ginny aside. "Ginny, do you love Harry?" Ginny blushed, but nodded. "Then there is a possibility that you may be the one to adore him. If you are, then you have a powerful part to play indeed."  
  
Ginny frowned. "Then that means Draco is…"  
  
Dumbledore made a quick gesture of assent. "Yes, that means Draco is the guide. That's odd though. The other prophecy clearly states the guide is younger, and Draco is at least six months older than Harry." He found that Ginny wasn't listening. She was looking hungrily at Harry as he lounged on the couch, his head slightly bent, his face intent, his eyes sparkling. Dumbledore sighed.   
  
Draco came out from the shower, feeling considerably refreshed. He walked into the room, and noted the sudden silence that fell when he entered. He managed a weak smile, as he sat down next to Snape. "So what's been decided?" he asked.  
  
Sirius answered baldly, "Draco, tonight we leave for Avalon."  
  
Draco gaped at him for a minute and then stuttered, "But I thought Avalon was just a myth."  
  
Harry spoke wearily, "Apparently Malfoy, it's not. It exists and it's the only place which can give me the training to prevent chaos." Draco acknowledged the reply with a curt nod and turned back to Sirius.  
  
"So, you mean, we won't be returning to Hogwarts?"  
  
"I'm assuming not, Draco. This training will be intensive, for you as well as for Harry. As the people in the prophecy, you must learn a lot too. It's going to be difficult. There are hard times ahead for all of us." Draco nodded and Sirius smiled. "Alright then, you kids get some rest. We'll be leaving around 10." Sirius, Snape, Remus and Dumbledore strode out of the room, leaving a quintet of very confused teenagers staring at each other.  
Predictably Harry was the first to react. He walked up to Draco and extended his hand. "Draco, I'm sorry for all the things we've said to you over the last few years. I thought you were a Death Eater. Obviously I was wrong. Can we be friends?"  
  
Draco stared into the face he had dreamt of so often, the face he had longed to run his fingers over. He stared into the beautiful eyes that he wanted to kiss shut, the lips he ached to call his own, and knew that if he accepted Harry Potters hand in friendship, he would never be able to curb those agonizing desires. Instead he said coolly, "I'm sorry Potter, it is true I'm your Protector, chosen as such by the Powers That Be. But I am not, and will never be your friend. There has been too much between us in the last five years for me to nobly act like they never happened. After all I'm not a Gryffindor." He saw the stricken expression on Harry's face before he turned on his heel and walked away. Behind him he heard the furious babble, Ron Weasely's voice rising over the others, but he didn't turn around. He couldn't! After all, he was Draco Malfoy. He couldn't let them know that he could cry.  
  
Before they knew it, it was ten, and time to leave. All five of them had been given bags containing clothes and weapons and the other things they would need in Avalon. In the cover of darkness Dumbledore led them to the great lake where a barge awaited, draped in black and silver. Softly he whispered, "Climb on." Silently they obeyed. Obviously the barge had been enchanted because without direction it began to skim soundlessly over the moonlit waters of the lake. No one spoke and there was no sound, but Harry felt that he could hear bells, silvery and equivocal, ringing in the distance. The bells seemed to be welcoming them…home.  
  
Slowly the barge slid towards the center and there suddenly appeared mists. A heavy haze that seemed to overcast the sky and the waters. Harry gasped, and heard Draco draw a deep breath beside him. The barge stopped in front of the mists, and Dumbledore stepped to the helm of the boat. He raised his arms and in a voice echoing over the thunder that suddenly roared in the cloudless sky he spoke, 'I, Albus Dumbledore, Merlin of Britain ask of you, Lady of the Lake, to permit our entry into the Magical Isle of Avalon."  
  
A voice spoke from nowhere, a woman's voice, clear and musical, "Enter Albus, enter in peace and be welcome." The mists parted and barge glided through. As they crossed the threshold into Avalon, Harry felt a surge of power go through him. There seemed to be magic in the air of the mystical island. A surreptitious glance at his friends showed him that they felt the difference as well. Then they were inside and Harry looked around him. He would never forget his first sight of Avalon slumbering in the arms of the night. His eyes widened at the unearthly beauty of the place. The island was an immense hill in shades of muted blue, greens and browns. On the top stood a circle of stones, akin to those on Stonehenge, but ebony black in color and flashing in the moonlight. The island was full of trees. The golden boughs of the yews, the silver bark of the beeches, the massive oaks towering protectively over the other trees, the delicate weeping willow swooping over the ground. At the bottom of the island, there were buildings. The buildings were made from rough hewed stone, large and capacious, but not intricate, made to house the priestesses. On the slope, there was a magnificent well, gleaming, mirroring the silver sheen of the sky. Ginny whispered, "It is beautiful." The eyes of the rest reflected the awe in her voice.  
  
The barge sailed towards the island and scraped to a halt on its silver sands. Sirius leapt out and offered his hand to Hermione. On the other side, Lupin did the same for Ginny. The others silently left the boat, and stood beside them. The sheer wonder of Avalon had struck them all mute. Just then, noiselessly, several women detached themselves from the darkness and surrounded them. They all differed vastly in looks, some tall, others short, some fair, some dark, some beautiful, others plain, but they all shared a common bond of dignity and power. They were dressed simply in white linen robes, and wore no adornments, except a locket of the crescent moon at their throats. Dumbledore bowed to them, and the company hurriedly followed suit. The women inclined their heads. Then without a word they parted. They stood, as if on attendance, in two lines on both side and the company saw a slim figure come down the hill. She walked up to them, put her hand in Dumbledore's and spoke in the same voice that had echoed in the stormy skies outside the mists, "I, Morgaine, Lady of the Lake, welcome you all to Avalon."   
  
Sorry about Dumbledore's spiel. I really couldn't resist a little hamming.  
  
O.K. now for my groveling. I love you people who review. Please do this little thing for me. Two reviews are good, but not good enough. (winces at the cliche).  
  
Thanks go to:  
DJay: Thanks for reviewing.  
  
MidnightDragon: Well I hope you enjoy this part too. Oh by the way, I read your story. Loved it. 


	5. The veracity of myth

Chapter Five  
  
Disc: Sue if you want to, parents are going to have to pay not me. For a proper disc., see the last chapter  
  
Another thing that Harry would never forget was his first impression of Morgaine LeFay. She was short, even shorter than petite Hermione, and exquisitely slender. Her hair was dark with only a few errant strands of silver. Her face was unlined, ageless, a face of immense serenity and tranquility. The features of her triangular face were small and even, but by no means beautiful. However after gazing into her eyes, one forgot that she was not conventionally good looking. Her eyes were her finest feature, large and lustrous, a dark glowing brown, in a small face. They were the only part of her that mirrored her age, the only part of her that looked weary and unhappy and old. It was an unnerving sight, the ancient eyes in the young face. Her voice was pitched low, but carried clearly in the rarefied air. Harry found that there was an aura about her that drew him to her. He stood several steps behind the others and drank Morgaine LeFay in.  
  
Dumbledore was doing the introductions. "This is Sirius Black. This is Severus Snape. This one here is Remus Lupin."   
  
As he introduced Lupin to her, she smiled at him, bent her head and said, "Don't worry, the moon here will pose no threat to you. This is Avalon." Lupin's face lit up in understanding and he stepped back. Dumbledore continued, "This is Ron Weasely, this is Hermione Granger." She greeted both of them gracefully and then Draco stepped forward.  
  
As her eyes fell on him, Morgaine gasped. "Lancelot! Lancelot of the Lake! What are you doing here?"  
  
Draco looked blank, as well he may. Dumbledore spoke for him. "This is not Lancelot, Morgaine. This is Draco Malfoy. He is one of those of whom I spoke."  
  
She nodded. "Of course he is. Forgive an old woman, lad. I mistook you for some one I knew. Some one I had known a long time ago."  
  
"Known and loved, my lady." For the first time Harry spoke, and just then a gust of wind blew his hood of his face, and a ray of wayward moonlight shone on his upturned face. Morgaine stared at him for a minute and then in a choked voice she said, "Arthur, Gwydion, Brother!"  
  
Dumbledore had no need to speak this time. Harry stepped forward and sank to one knee. "Forgive me, my lady, but I am not your brother. I am only Harry Potter. I wish I could bring him to you, just to see your eyes smile once more."  
  
Draco shot him a quick glance of envy as Morgaine lifted Harry to his feet. How did Harry, living with those ghastly muggles know what to say to this awe inspiring woman, when he, living in Malfoy Manor his entire life, being taught every mannerism in the book of etiquette, had been left dumbstruck? He saw that Morgaine was speaking, and pulled himself together.   
"Harry Potter." She smiled. "My brother has been dead and gone for a long time, and I believed that the chivalry of that era had vanished with him. Obviously I was wrong. Welcome to Avalon." Harry bowed his head and moved away.   
  
Dumbledore smiled. "And last but certainly not least this is Ginny Weasely." Ginny stepped forward looking a little lost and forlorn. Morgaine looked at her, and suddenly smiled. Then she stepped forward and touched Ginny gently on the forehead. The people watching looked on with surprise as Ginny's body tensed and her eyes glazed. After a minute or so, Morgaine removed her hand and Ginny snapped into consciousness. Morgaine laughingly glanced at Dumbledore.  
  
"Albus, you have brought me a rare gift. The little girl has the sight. The power runs true in her. Someday she will make a powerful priestess. In some years, when she comes of age, I will ask her of you. But not yet. Now is the time for rest. You have had a long and tiring journey. You, girl, come with me." she said, pointing at Ginny. "Albus called you Ginny didn't he? Not a dignified name for a future priestess. I shall call you Virginia."  
  
Ginny stood where she was in an act of surprising defiance and spoke in a voice that was small but clear, "Not Virginia, Guinevere." This time the silence was stifling.  
  
  
**************************  
  
Morgaine LeFay, Lady of the Lake, Priestess of Avalon, sat in her room in the House of Healing and stared into the flickering flames of the fires that she had ordered lit. The thoughts that were spinning around in her head were one of the many prices she had to pay for immortality - repetition. When she had seen him step forward, in every way similar to her Arthur, she had known that it was happening again. The dreadful tragedy that had torn Britain apart was about to be repeated. She was so deep in her reveries that she didn't hear the knock on the door. She didn't notice it, until the door swung open and a brown bushy head appeared in the crack. Then she turned around. "You are one of the company, aren't you? I believe Albus introduced you as Hermione Granger. Come in Hermione."  
  
Hermione slipped in and rather timidly walked up to Morgaine. Morgaine noted the fear and awe in her eyes, and set herself out to be as charming as she could. She dropped the slight glamour of the goddess that she had donned and spoke to Hermione woman to woman. After a while Morgaine noticed the fear fading, and trust forming. After a few minutes of such conversation, Hermione came to the point. "Lady, of my friends I am the only one who has ever read about the Arthurian period. So I was the only one to understand your references. I gathered that you found there to be a great resemblance between Harry and Arthur and Draco and Lancelot. Ginny's name is an unfortunate coincidence. I have read about what happened between the three, and I think you fear that it will happen again. Perhaps it's presumptuous of me, but I have come to assure you that it will not. I know that Ginny does not love Draco and I'm almost as sure that Draco has no feelings for Ginny." Hermione wound up, looking a little embarrassed.  
  
Morgaine felt a rush of warmth go through her at the genuine concern of this girl. That was followed by a rush of guilt. 'So that is how the books have put it. Well that's what most people wanted to believe. But this girl, at least, deserves the truth.' She thought to herself. She looked sharply at Hermione. Hermione met her glance unflinchingly. Morgaine nodded approvingly. "Do you know who I am, Hermione Granger?" she asked, pulling herself to her full height.  
  
Hermione nodded. "Apart from Professor Dumbledore, I am probably the only one who realizes it. You are Morgaine, daughter of Igraine, granddaughter of Taliesin, half sister of Arthur Pendragon. You are …" then she stopped short.  
  
Morgaine gave a bitter laugh. "You were about to say the mother of Mordred, who eventually defeated Arthur. Yes you are right, I am all of those. After Arthur's downfall, a lot of people blamed me for his death, for Mordreds birth. But I tell you, Hermione, it wasn't Mordred who defeated Arthur. If it hadn't been for the internal ructions, Mordred would never have been successful. My son was just fortunate to have been at the right place at the right time. The seeds of defeat had been sown earlier.  
  
Let me make one thing clear at the very outset of this tale, Hermione. Neither Guinevere nor Lancelot were ever in love with each other. Both of them had only one love - Arthur Pendragon, Christian king of Greater Britain. The only reason they ever came together was only to make Arthur jealous, to get his attention for themselves. Each of them was using the other. But Arthur, Arthur loved both of them, but he loved his duty more. Arthur was always King first and everything else second. But that only drew them even closer to him. I was there the first time they met, the three of them. They were all mere children then, Arthur and Lancelot about twelve and Guinevere seven. They met here in Avalon. Lancelot was my cousin, the son of the then Priestess, Viviane. Arthur, of course, was my brother. The two were playing together, fighting as children will. And then she strayed in through the mists. The mists had thinned and she had accidentally entered our lands. The minute I saw her, I knew. Her eyes were fixed on Arthur even then. She was taken away and soon after my brother and Lancelot left too, for different destinations. Even as a child, I could see she desired my brother, and with her single minded purpose would get him. Eventually, years later, she did. He married her, and I could see he loved her. And then Lancelot returned. War scarred and brave, he was my brother's greatest knight. All the ladies in the land coveted him, but he was completely oblivious to them. Later, it was said that was because he was the Queens' champion, but anyone with the slightest intelligence could tell that it was the King he adored.   
  
That was the time that threats on England began to come from every side. Enemies were constantly at the King's throat and the borders were under heavy attack. It was this war tossed kingdom that Arthur had to rule, and he did it nobly. He instituted the Knights of The Round Table, possibly the greatest warriors ever. His adviser was Kevin, the Merlin of Britain following Taliesin, a capable man, though not brilliant. Arthur himself had to assume leadership. No wonder he had no time for love, or even friendship. Lancelot and Guinevere both felt neglected and piqued. She was the loveliest lady in the land, and he was the finest knight. They turned to each other for solace. When Arthur found out, he was struck to the heart. The two people he had trusted the most had turned against him. What Arthur never realized was that they had done it just to vie for his attention. But Arthur had no time to arbitrate. He sent Lancelot off on a wild goose chase after the Grail and Guinevere was put into a nunnery, supposedly for her protection. This was Arthur's greatest mistake. With Lancelot gone, a lot of idealistic fools went with him, and there was no capable person to command Arthur's armies. Arthur always thought that he was capable of carrying the travails of the world on his shoulders. This was one time the burden proved to heavy. Taking advantage of the situation, Mordred attacked and Arthur's kingdom fell. Arthur died! When this news reached Guinevere, she wasted away and died soon after in the nunnery. When it reached Lancelot he threw himself on his sword. And thus the age of Chivalry passed."  
  
Hermione listened to the declaration with bated breath. When Morgaine finished, she sat back and drew a deep breath. "Oh God," she said aloud. "So that is why he refused Harry's friendship. Oh God." She looked at Morgaine and bit her lip. "Lady, Ginny has been in love with Harry ever since she set her eyes on him."  
  
"And what about La… I mean Draco?"  
  
"I don't know, but I have reason to believe that Draco loves Harry as well."  
  
Morgaine's eyes widened. "And Harry? What about Harry?"  
  
"I don't think Harry knows anything yet."  
  
Morgaine nodded. "Thank you, Hermione, you've been most helpful. Now you must go and rest."  
  
Hermione rose and went to the door, but stopped halfway, turned around and looked at Morgaine curiously. "Lady, answer me one more question. Who did Arthur love more - Lancelot or Guinevere?"  
  
Morgaine looked seriously back at Hermione, "I don't think Arthur himself realized it, but it was Lancelot."  
  
Hermione bowed her head and left, leaving Morgaine LeFay to her own very disturbed thoughts once more.  
  
Well, what do you know, one whole review. Hallelujah. You people out there are being really mean. Please be nice and review.  
  
Thanks go to:  
Rachel, my sole reviewer, sob sob, thank you. I agree Harry and Draco are awesome together 


	6. How to be a warrior

Chapter Six  
  
Disc: Nothing is mine. This is fanfiction. Wake up and smell the flowers.  
  
When Harry woke early next morning, at first he didn't realize where he was. He lay in bed for a minute listening to the bells chiming somewhere far away. Then he sat up and studied his surroundings carefully. He hadn't really seen it properly the last night, and he duly appreciated the stone walls, hung with fine tapestries, the large windows, through which weak sunlight filtered in, the Spartan furnishing of the room, the single bed, the cupboard and the desk. Last he noted a fine harp, which stood for some reason at the corner of the room. "So I really am in Avalon," he wondered aloud. Then a rumbling in his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten for virtually twenty-four hours, and he decided to change and go dig out something to eat. He opened the bag that Dumbledore had given him and gaped at the clothes that lay there. "Why does he want me to dress in Muggle clothes rather than robes?" The answer came to him almost immediately. "It gives you the freedom of movement. It will probably make our training easier." Harry selected a dark green shirt, and teamed it with black trousers. Since there was no mirror in the room, he didn't stop to appraise himself, but immediately left to hunt for food.  
  
Walking down the winding corridors, he looked desperately around for any sign of a kitchen. He was about to give up and return to his room, when he heard a voice. He turned around a saw a girl dressed in the priestesses robe standing at the end of the passage. She was tall, slender, her red hair banded away from her face, her eyes a dark, steadfast gray. "Were you looking for something?" she asked.  
  
He smiled at her, "Well, to be quite honest, I was hungry and was longing for something to eat. Do you think you could help?"  
  
She returned the smile. "Certainly I could. You must be thinking us most inhospitable for not offering you anything. But I must say you're awake uncommonly early. Follow me."  
  
Harry obeyed, saying as he matched her pace, "I hope I didn't wake you or disturb you."  
  
She shook her head with a laugh. "Oh no. I meant you were awake early for a visitor. We wake at the crack of dawn. That is the time for our first prayer."  
  
Harry looked at her wistfully, "I would love to see your prayers sometimes. Do you think I could?"  
  
She looked shocked. "Oh no, only the priestesses have entry to the Ritual of the Light. Except of course on the eve of Midsummer. Then one man is chosen. He is known as the King Stag. However this tradition has not been upheld for several years now."  
  
Harry nodded, understanding and respecting their beliefs. She led him in silence into a massive kitchen. "Wait a minute." She said. "I'll just light the fire and then you can have something to eat."  
  
He bowed and grinned at her, "Let me do the honors." He pointed his wand at the fireplace, and muttered, "Fierus." Flames sprang up, licking the dark wood, and she glanced admiringly at him. He returned her look with a twinkle and she laughed. "Now that the fire is lit, may I please have something to eat?" he whined.  
  
She nodded. "Of course." She bustled over to the table and swiftly prepared a meal. In a few minutes she handed him a hunk of bread doused in butter and honey, along with a mug of rich creamy milk. Thankfully he gulped them down, muttering a 'Fank you." through a mouthful of food. She smiled down at him almost maternally. Just then another, louder bell rang, and she gasped.   
  
"Oh I really do have to go. It was nice meeting you. I will see you again, won't I?"  
  
Harry nodded, "Oh yes, I have a feeling you'll be seeing a lot of me. Oh, by the way, what's your name?"  
  
She was at the door by then. Over her shoulder she shouted, "My name is Nimue." And with that she disappeared.  
  
Harry now made his way back to his room, where he found Ron perched on his bed, waiting for him. Ron was also dressed in muggle clothes, a white shirt and dark brown trousers. As Harry entered, his friend looked up impatiently at him. "Where were you? I've been waiting for you for years. The Lady of the Lake has summoned us. Our training is about to begin. Hurry up, we don't have much time." Harry nodded and the two of them left.  
  
When they reached the large enclosure, almost a stadium, where they were to be trained, they found the others waiting for them. Draco leaned casually on a stone, his eyes mirroring his disdain for the silver gray shirt and black pants he found himself forced to wear. Hermione and Ginny stood huddled in a corner; both dressed in white shorts and blue shirts, talking in low tones. There seemed to be tension in the air. Harry and Ron walked over to the girls. But before they could say anything, Morgaine's voice reverberated in the rarefied morning air, "Welcome."  
  
They turned to her and as if by necessity were drawn to her. They stood around her, and she looked at them one by one. "Your training," she said, "Is not going to be easy for any of you. You will learn to control your powers, to harness them, and to direct them, as you will. You will learn to fight, to defend yourself without your magic. You will eat, drink, sleep, breath as we of Avalon instruct you to. We can only train you. The war is yours to fight. Now we will start with self-defense. I want you boys to strip to the waist, so that I can gauge what defense is best for you. Once you are finished with self-defense, we will move on to magical warfare and dueling. After that we will study more specific things, such as Harry's Magid training etc. Does everyone understand? Excellent! Now let us determine your weapons."  
  
Slightly embarrassed, the three boys took their shirts off. Morgaine studied them scientifically. Ron was easiest to decide about, as he stood there his skin flushed. He was tall, at least 6'3, and built like a young bull. The firm muscles rippled over his frame. The bright red hair had grown out almost to his shoulder and was pulled into a ponytail emphasizing the look of the warrior. The cornflower blue eyes looked up at her trustingly and she couldn't resist smiling down at him. He was so transparent. So loyal, so passionate, so hot tempered. He reminded her irresistibly of Gawaine, her cousin, Morgause's son. There was only one weapon for this brand of fighter. "You, Ron, will learn to fight with the mace." Ron bowed his head and moved back.  
  
Next, her eyes shifted to Draco. Draco was beautiful, as beautiful as Lancelot had been. His body was slim, almost delicately so, but it was deceptive. He was light on his feet and wiry. Morgaine lips curved once more, but this time it was in reminiscence. The silver gilt hair lay flat on his superbly shaped skull, his pale gray eyes blazed in an otherwise expressionless face. The features were aristocratic, refined, perhaps a trifle feminine. Thus had been Lancelot. But no one who had seen Lancelot fight could ever call him feminine again. He was a ferocious fighter using his speed and grace to good advantage. "Draco, would I be wrong in assuming that you have learned sword-craft earlier?" She saw the respect dawn in his eyes as he nodded. "Then it is swordplay that you will continue to learn." Draco acquiesced and moved back.  
  
Then she came to the last of the three, and was hard put to choke back the gasp of pain that came to her lips. Standing below her was the infant brother she had cradled in her arms, the boy lover who had caressed her after the feast of Midsummer and the dying king from whose cold hands she had taken the sword Excalibur. It was no surprise, she mused to herself, that Arthur had been considered the best looking man in Greater Britain, more beautiful than even Lancelot. Her eyes dwelled on his body. It was the body of an athlete, an acrobat, supple, muscular, and lithe. The skin was tanned an even golden, the emerald green eyes met her own with cool amusement. The features were perfectly handsome with neither Draco's femininity nor Ron's overt masculinity, the dark hair tossed in the wind, the lips laughing as Arthur's had even in death. So difficult to know, so easy to adore. She remembered that Mordred himself had once said that 'Even I who have no cause to love him feel the spell he creates around him.' Her memory strayed to the night of the feast when she had spent that passionate night with him, the night that both remembered and never mentioned. No she couldn't go there, not now with this boy staring expectantly at her. She pulled herself up as she found the children staring at her expectantly. "Harry you will learn hand-to-hand combat, as well as swordplay along with Draco." Harry obediently submitted.   
  
Finally she turned to the two girls who waited there. She was amused to note how different they were. Hermione was short, perhaps only an inch or so taller than herself, but with a perfectly proportioned body. The brown, bushy hair was long, falling to her waist, tied away from her face in a severe knot. The face was not strictly beautiful or even pretty. However it was intelligent and attractive, the face of a thinker. A pair of dark brown eyes, sharp and curious, gave character to the face. "Hermione, you will learn to wield the bow and arrow." Hermione nodded crisply. "Also you will learn healing. You have a sharp mind and in times of war, the art of healing is an important one to know."  
  
Ginny waited patiently for her turn, and Morgaine's eyes clouded as they fell on her. The girl was so much like Guinevere in some ways, and in others was totally disparate. She had the same tall, perfect, slender body that drew men's eyes wherever she went. She had the same dainty features. But her coloring was different. Where Guinevere had been white and gold and porcelain, Ginny was fiery red, and blazing amber. Also Morgaine felt something steadfast about Ginny, possibly emanating from her undoubted power, courage, a disregard for danger, something Guinevere had lacked. But she saw another similarity to Guinevere, which was far more frightening than the physical resemblance. It was a dedicated, single-minded devotion to what she desired. She remembered Igraine saying with only a half-mocking laugh - what Gwenwhyfar wants, Gwenwhyfar gets. It was this she sensed in Ginny. "Ginny, you will learn to wield the staff. It's not difficult. You will also learn the rudiments of hand-to-hand combat. However you will be learning little of such craft. Your time will be better utilized with us studying the facets of your gift." Ginny also swiftly assented.  
  
Morgaine drew a deep breath. "Very well then, now that you are all aware of the different facets of your capabilities, let your training begin."  
  
Please my I have more reviews(sniff sniff). Two a chapter is just not good enough  
  
Thanks go to:  
Bill Weasely: Glad you liked it. I do have a few surprises up my sleeve. But you'll have to wait and see.  
  
Liz: I know. They are great together. Thanks for reviewing. 


	7. A test of skill

Chapter Seven  
  
Disc: Nothing belongs to your humble servant) (viz me). It's either JK Rowling, or Marion Zimmer Bradley, both gods in their own rights  
  
It had been three days since they had last seen Morgaine and Harry and Ron stumbled back to their room panting with exhaustion. Harry threw himself down on his bed, and looked at his best friend with weary eyes, his hair matted with sweat. "I hate Draco Malfoy!" he groaned. "Why does the son-of-a-bitch have to be so damn good at sword fighting? Why does he have to beat the living daylights out of me every single time we fight?"  
  
Ron broke into a tired grin. "Well he's been learning for six years, and you've been learning for three days. That may have something to do with it."  
  
Harry grunted. "Was that supposed to make me feel better? My ass is still getting kicked, you know."  
  
"Oh yes, I know. Difficult to miss it, my dear chap. But if it makes you feel any happier, you are amazing when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. I had no idea you were that good. I mean, you totally decimated that poor guy who was training you."  
  
Harry glanced up with a smile. "Yeah, I was rather good, wasn't I? But let me tell you something Ron, my boy. The only reason I defeated him was because I played dirtier than he did. I had some tricks up my sleeve that he didn't expect. Next time he'll be prepared, so I'll have to improvise. I have to dream up new ideas which he won't be able to foresee."  
  
Ron stared at him with awestruck eyes. "When on earth did you start thinking like that?"  
  
A sneering voice spoke from the door, "Yes, Potter, I'd almost say that you were looking at things like a Slytherin."   
  
"Malfoy, I'm totally beat. Are you here to preen about your damn victory, 'cause if you are, then I admit it, ok! I admit you're infinitely superior when it comes to anything to do with clashing blades. Happy? Now, for the sake of peace, go away."  
  
"Flattering as that is, Potter, I'm not here to flaunt my victory in your face. I just came to tell you that I thought your fencing was improving. Some day, you'll be very, very good."  
  
Harry sat up with a jerk. "Did I just hear Draco Malfoy compliment me? Ron, catch me, I swoon."  
  
"Oh very funny Potter. I also came to tell you that the Lady of the Lake wishes to see a demonstration of our newly acquired fighting skills tonight. So try and get all the rest you can. I have a feeling you're going to need it."   
With that parting shot, Draco swaggered away. Harry fell back on his bed, and Ron clutched his hair in dismay. "Harry, this is going to be a long, long day." Harry's only response was an exasperated whimper.  
  
Before Harry knew it, it was nightfall and several priestesses came to his room, the one at the head carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. He looked at her closely and saw it was Nimue. He shot her his most charming smile. "Hello, Nimue. Are those for me?"  
  
She returned his smile. "Yes, they are, Mr. Potter. They are ceremonial garments. The lady wishes you to wear them to the feast tonight."  
  
"Harry, it's Harry and what feast?"  
  
"The feast preceding your exhibition of fighting. It has been very long since something like this has happened in Avalon. We are all very intrigued. I have never seen a duel. Please hurry. The feast is due to begin in half an hour." She put the clothes on his bed, and left, followed by the others. Harry picked up the clothes. They were elaborate, the white breeches, the red and gold tunic belted at the waist with a phoenix clasp. The boots were red and gold as well, ankle high, made of fragrant leather. Over this went a robe of ivory silk, sheathing his shoulders, falling in folds around his feet, smooth and ceremonial. He quickly donned the given clothes, and inhaled sharply on finding what lay below the pile of clothes. It was the most magnificent scabbard he had ever seen, wrought in threads of crimson, gold and silver, the hilt encrusted in jewels, carved with mystic signs he couldn't interpret, but could feel their power. He drew the sword out, and held it up as it shone in the dim light, he caressed the leaf shaped blade and he felt power course through him. He put the sword down and then was human again. There was a note with it, anonymous, in a slanting script. The note simply said, "Use it wisely." Harry lashed the sword to his waist, draped the robe around him, ran a comb through his unruly hair and was ready to go.  
  
He stepped out into the corridor, drew a deep breath, and entered the Great Hall. He found it already crowded. On the High Table, he could see his friends, looking as nervous as he felt. Nobody had noticed him yet. He stood at the entrance feeling a trifle foolish. Then suddenly he felt rather than saw Morgaine's glance fall on him, he felt rather than heard her sudden gasp. He knew that was his cue. He strode in and straight to her. He knelt in front of her, lifted a glass of wine and whispered, "To you, my lady." And drank. Then he went and joined his companions at the seat they had so thoughtfully saved for him. He could feel Morgaine's eyes follow him across the room.  
  
Now for the first time he had the chance to observe his friends. Ron was dressed in armor, heavy and shining. It suited him, his face framed by the helm, looked incisive and masculine, making him look older, stronger. Hermione was, surprisingly enough, dressed in a gown. The gown was blue, made of delicate muslin. It fell off her shoulders leaving them bare, sheathed the round swell of her breasts subtly, clung to her hips and then flowed in smooth layers to her ankles. She saw Harry staring at her, and shook her head, signifying that she wouldn't be participating in the night's fight. He nodded back. Next his eyes shifted to Ginny and his brows shot up. She was also dressed in armor, every curve of her slender figure emphasized by the sheen of the light metal. It wasn't iron like Ron's, it was something much more malleable and buoyant. It shimmered and gleamed, making her look like a warrior princess. She wore no helmet and her gloriously rich red hair tumbled around her face that was pale and taut with excitement. She had never looked so lovely to Harry before. Finally Harry looked at Draco, and kept looking for a long minute. Draco was dressed exactly like him, but either knowingly or by some uncanny coincidence, his tunic and boots were silver and green. His breeches and robe were black. The dark color offset his silvery hair and pale eyes. He looked insubstantial, ethereal, other worldly. Then Harry kicked himself mentally. Why was he looking like that at Draco Malfoy, of all the people? He returned his attention to the excellent fare that had been set before him and joined desultorily in Ron and Hermione's argument.   
  
Suddenly a voice called out for music. Several others took up the chant and finally Morgaine laughingly held up her hand. "We have the Merlin of Britain with us. Of course we shall have music. Albus, would you?"   
  
Dumbledore nodded. "It has been a long time since I have played for such an appreciative and critical audience. But I will play none the less." He took the harp that some priestess offered him, and ran his fingers lovingly over its curves almost as if it were a long lost familiar lover. Then he began to play. It was the most exquisite sound Harry had ever heard, bringing to live the poignancy and pain of the times. The harp wept as he stroked it. Then the sound shifted bringing to the listeners a feeling of immense peace, of loves lost, found and forgotten, of years of beautiful memories. When finally it keened to a shuddering halt, the entire hall gave silent homage. Dumbledore laid the harp down with tears shining in his eyes.  
  
"I never knew Dumbledore played so well." Said Ron with wonder in his voice.  
  
"Really Ron, he is the Merlin of Britain. What did you expect?"  
  
Harry cut in. "You know Herm, I wondered about that. I mean I always thought Merlin was the original wizard. Then how can Dumbledore be the Merlin?"  
  
Hermione spoke with forced patience, "Harry, Merlin is the title given to the Head Druid and Bard of Britain, the highest honor that can be conferred on a wizard. Taliesin was the most important Merlin in English history and that is why it is a common mistake to think of him by that name. But as anyone who has read anything about that period would know, it is a title passed on from generation to generation."   
  
Harry mischievously saluted and said, "Yes Ma'am." And even Hermione had to dissolve into laughter. Just then Morgaine rang a bell, and the hall became completely still. In her low but carrying voice, she said, "Now we shall adjourn to the arena." She rose, and went out, the rest of the Hall filing up to follow her.   
  
Ron gulped and looked at Harry, "Well mate, here goes nothing." Harry just stared into nothingness as a couple of priests led them to the arena. They stood in the wings, nervously fidgeting. Suddenly a voice rang out. "We will start with the Mace Fight. Would Ron Weasely come forward?" Ron looked pale for a second. Then he gathered himself together, jutted his chin out in a familiar gesture and strode out. From the other side of the stadium came his opponent, and at the sight the viewers gasped in horror. The challenger was at least 7 feet tall with gigantic proportions. His long matted hair had been braided, his face was covered with ferocious face paint, he wore a horned cap on his head.   
  
Beside Harry, Hermione gasped, "A Barbarian! I've heard of those. They are the toughest gladiators in the world." She buried her head in her hands. Ginny was watching intently, not missing a single move. Harry himself prayed silently, urgently, hoping his best friend would emerge from his first encounter unharmed. Just then he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He twisted around to look into Draco's shadowed eyes.   
  
"Don't worry about Weasely, Potter. Nothing's going to happen to him. Don't you know that you stupid Gryffs have several guardian angels working over time to see that you don't kill yourselves in some foolhardy enterprise?" Harry looked at the other boy with astonishment, but whispered, "Thanks for the thought, Draco."  
  
The two combatants circled each other warily, waiting for the other to take initiative. Finally tired of waiting, the Barbarian lunged forward. Thanking his brothers for years of Quidditch training, Ron dodged. The Barbarian lost his footing and stumbled forward. Taking advantage of the situation, Ron swung his mace at his opponent and smashed him in the back of his head. Dazed at first, the Barbarian recovered swiftly and with a cry of wrath rushed forward to attack Ron. This time Ron wasn't so lucky. The mace struck him hard on the shoulder, and he went flying. A cry of commiseration went up, but was stalled by Morgaine's imperious gesture.  
  
Ron clambered to his feet, nursing his aching shoulder in one hand. Now the Weasely temper was up. As the Barbarian bore down on him, Ron veered away, much like a matador does with a charging bull. Again the Barbarian was unable to stop himself and this time Ron didn't contain himself after one blow. He showered blow after blow on the hapless Barbarian, until his adversary slowly collapsed on the ground, unconscious. A slow cheer gathered momentum as the audience saluted the David who had defeated his Goliath. A tired, but blissful Ron made his way back to the wings where Hermione threw herself in his arms in joy. That only made him look happier. Only Harry heard Draco murmur, "One down, three to go."   
  
Next Morgaine's voice announced, "Now I call upon Ginny Weasely to participate in the Fight of the Staff." Ginny stepped forward, much more composed than Ron had been. She picked up the heavy knotted wooden staff that lay before and hefted it swiftly, testing its weight and durability. Apparently satisfied she stepped into the enclosure, and calmly looked at her opponent. The opponent looked back at her equally calmly. The man was dressed in black armor, contrasting directly with her shining form. He overtopped her by several inches. No Barbarian, this one, but no easy match either. Ginny however looked unruffled. As the handkerchief dropped, she almost instinctively leapt out of the way, as the antagonist swept at her with his staff. Then she leapt into action. Watching her, Harry realized why Fred and George had recommended her as the Beater for their side. She was surprisingly strong. She wielded the bulky rod like it was a wand. She made some intricate passes with it, confusing the foe, and then like lightning she struck him in the solar plexus. Now she was gathering impetus. She used it as a pole, moving too fast for him to hit her, striking him when he was least prepared. Ron stared at his younger sister, as she seemingly effortlessly swung the staff at the mans helm shattering it, and before he could react, she struck his weapon out of his hand. The staff went flying and he fell to the ground in front of her, whimpering and, in a voice which suddenly uncannily reminded Harry of Morgaine, she said, "Do you surrender?" As he nodded weakly, she stepped back, gracefully bowed to the crowd and walked back to the wing. As she joined the others, Ron said what he had said to Hermione many years ago, "Ginny, you're scary. Brilliant, but scary." Harry couldn't help chuckling.  
  
"Now it is time for our final event," said Morgaine, "For the event we have all been waiting for - The Duel of Swords. I call upon Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy to fight against each other."   
  
"Come on, Potter." Said Draco softly, "It's time."   
  
  
I got four reviews, the highest number so far. Woo hoo. Please don't stop now, please.  
  
Thanks go to:  
Midnightdragon: Thanks for the second review. I'm glad you like it, and I don't understand it either.  
  
Lostgrl:I am with you there, what could be better? They are all so brilliant  
  
Jozefo: Thank you, that really means something. Do keep reading and reviewing.  
  
Mike: Wait and watch, that's all I can say. The next chapter has some romance, so you'll know. 


	8. A confession of love

Chapter Eight  
  
Disc: If anything belonged to me, I'd be riding a limo. As all I have is a rather rotten bike, figure it out. Harry Potter and co. belong to J.K. Rowling and Avalon and anything to do with it has been inspired by Marion Zimmer Bradley.  
  
Harry stepped out, praying desperately that he looked less frightened than he felt. He knew, better than anyone else, exactly how good Draco Malfoy was at dueling. Loath as he was to admit it, he was perfectly aware that Draco was unusually fast, exceptionally agile, and exasperatingly accurate. This was going to be an embarrassingly crushing defeat.  
  
At the other side of the arena, Draco sized up his opponent. Harry overtopped him by a good three inches, certainly stronger when it came to sheer brute force, and for somebody who had been learning for just four days was astonishingly good. The carefully honed Quidditch reflexes, gave him an almost intuitive warning of danger. His meticulous exercise regime had definitely improved his stamina and resilience. Even though Harry was new to the subtle pleasures of fencing, Draco was convinced that the younger boy would be a force to reckon with.  
  
Both of them lightly tossed the robes off, and stood clad only in the tunics and the breeches. At the sound of the trumpet, both of them drew their swords. Draco stared at the sword in Harry's hands. It wasn't anything like the swords they had practiced with; it wasn't even like the sword that he himself held right now. As Harry held the sword aloft, a sigh rippled through the crowds. Uncomprehendingly, the two fighters stared at each other, but before they had the time to react, the trumpet rang out again and the duel started for real.  
  
Like featherweight boxing, fencing is the finest sport to behold, superior to the more crude mace or staff, simply because it is a sport of grace and skill, rather than of brute force. The sight of the delicately tempered steel rushing through the air, clashing sparks of each other, was far more delightful. The viewers watched with bated breath as the two boys fought untiringly. Soon, they could see that the combatants were evenly matched. Draco moved like lightening, flashing in, striking and flashing out. His slim body was like quicksilver, weaving in and out, the strokes executed with meticulous efficiency. Harry was less graceful, less expert, but he had a powerful arm, sharpened through nights of strenuous exercise, and days of Quidditch. His reflexes were swift, his eye good, and he was prone to taking wild risks that paid off all too often.   
  
As the two battled it out in the arena, Ron stared at Hermione with a puzzled glance. "Is it just me, or is Harry fighting better today than he usually does?"  
  
Ginny shot her brother an exasperated glance, "Of course he is. I've noticed it from the beginning. Where have your eyes been? I'm just making a wild guess here, but I think it's because it's a competition. Harry doesn't like losing. He isn't used to it. Haven't you seen how much better he is in an actual match, than in a practice session?"  
  
Ron nodded, but Hermione spoke abstractedly, "I don't think it's that simple, Gin. However much Harry may want to win, it's still impossible for him to learn those intricate moves so fast. There is something more to it than competitiveness. Look how well he parried Draco's last lunge. There's no way he could learn that in four days."  
  
Ron leant forward, "She's right, Gin. I mean, if it wasn't so ridiculous, I'd say that he was analyzing and memorizing Malfoy's moves, was perfecting them, and was using them against him. It's like well…magic."  
  
Suddenly Hermione's eyes widened. "Of course, it has to be. Why didn't I think of it earlier?" She turned to her best friend, and kissed him on the cheek. "Ron, you're a genius. I'll be right back."  
  
Ron blushed, and could only gibber helplessly. Ginny looked up at the older girl. "Where are you going, Hermione?"  
  
"To the library." Shouted Hermione over her shoulder, as she dashed off.  
  
Ron shrugged. "That's our Herm. When in doubt, go to the library." With that philosophical statement, he returned his attention to the match that was raging below him. To his surprise he saw that Harry now held the upper hand. He had successfully cornered Draco, and instead of using defensive moves, was attacking. He slashed at Draco's legs, which Draco successfully evaded, by jumping high into the air. But before Draco could land, Harry regained his balance and swung the sword in a high shining arc towards his opponent. Draco barely managed to raise his own weapon in time to meet it, and even then was pushed back, since it was a weak blow. Fortunately for Draco, his reactions were fast enough for him to back up before Harry made his next move. Scrambling to his feet, he used his definitely superior speed to dodge away from Harry's reach. Harry advanced calmly, his sword held high, waiting for Draco to approach. Draco circled him, cautiously, his eyes narrowed, waiting for an opening.  
  
He got it. The wind blew, a cloud moved and the moon shone straight into Harry's eyes, temporarily blinding him. Draco moved like a leopard, swiftly and gracefully, sweeping down on his rival. There was a hush of awe, a crowd that was convinced that a victory had been won. Draco bore down confidently, sure of his triumph. Just then, almost intuitively, blindly, Harry held up his sword… and miraculously blocked the blow. A gasp of awe went up, but was swiftly silenced. Now Harry had got his sight back, there was no doubt which was the battle would go. Moving rapidly, he took advantage of Draco's surprise to knock the sword out of the other boy's hand. Then with a swift blow with the flat of the blade, he laid his adversary to the ground. He pointed the tip of the sword at Draco's neck in true swordsman spirit, and with a low, almost mocking bow, asked, "Surrender?"  
  
Draco weakly nodded in acquiescence, and Harry removed the sword. He gave his hand to Draco, who reluctantly took it, and pulled him up. Then he made another bow, this one to the crowd. The crowd burst out in cheers, the applause was tumultuous and this time Morgaine indulgently let them continue. Her eyes were trained on the victor; the expression was one of awe.  
Ron and Ginny were riotously cheering, when Hermione collapsed beside them breathlessly, a thick book clasped in her arms. "Where have you been?" gasped Ron, his throat hoarse from the shouting.  
  
Hermione looked at him severely. "Looking up a reference. Look at this." She held the book out to them, and they bent over it. It was an ancient tome about the magical weapons of yore, and their properties.  
  
"Hey, cool." Said Ron, with a grin. "I wouldn't mind having the Bow that shoots poisonous Bees. What a honey of a death."   
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Look at the bottom of the page, Funnyman."   
  
Ron obeyed her, and his jaw dropped. "Isn't that the sword Harry was using? That leaf shaped blade is rather unmistakable."  
  
Hermione nodded crisply. "Yes, keep reading."  
  
Ron's eyes flicked over the rest of the page, and he looked even more astounded. He stammered. "But this is a magical blade. It was crafted by one of the Ladies of the Lake for the then King, Arthur Pendragon. It is said of the blade that he who holds it is invincible. No man can defeat him. But what makes it even more remarkable is that it was made for only one man. Nobody but Arthur could wield it. If anyone else tried to use it, it would destroy them. But then how did Harry…?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Exactly! It is Excalibur, the sword that Viviane made for Arthur. You got one thing wrong though, it isn't the blade that makes him invincible. It is the scabbard. That is how Arthur was defeated. The scabbard was taken from him. But that explains his victory. The sword was doing it. It was channeling its strength into Harry, so that Harry would win. So you see Ron, you were right. Malfoy's moves are being improved and replicated, but not by Harry, by the sword. Now the only question is, how can Harry use the sword?" The other two met her eyes with equally blank stares   
  
***********************  
  
Harry peeled the tunic off his body. He still didn't understand how he had won, though Hermione had tried to explain it to him. It was something to do with the sword, of course. That magnificent sword that made him feel like he was indomitable! He felt one with the sword, as sharp, as powerful, as old. He shook himself. It wasn't him, it was the sword. He turned on the bath, and soaked his tired bones, stretching his long legs luxuriously. Just then a knock came on the door. Harry turned his head lazily in the general direction of the door, wondering who it could be. He distinctly remembered Ron mumbling, "Ahm gonna sweeep" which he correctly translated as "I'm going to sleep." He didn't think that either of the girls would come into his room at that time, but nevertheless he pulled himself out of the bath, and wrapped a towel around himself. He pulled the door open and found himself staring into a pair of gray eyes, a few inches below his own.  
  
"Malfoy!" he said, too weary to be rude. "What do you want?"  
  
"I want to congratulate you on a good fight."  
  
Harry gave a short tired laugh. "Yeah right! Malfoy, you know as well as I do, that it was the sword that won, and not me. If it had been just me, you'd have eaten me for breakfast and regurgitated the bones. Let that thought console you. Now go away and let me sleep."  
  
Draco gave a reluctant smile, "I can't disagree with that, mainly because it's true. But the sword had to have something to work on. You were good, and I can't deny that."  
  
Harry gave a genuine grin this time, "Malfoy, for a Slytherin, you're a terrible liar. You know perfectly well that the sword would have made Neville Longbottom a brilliant fighter. That's what it's supposed to do, remember? Make you invincible. Part of the job description."  
  
Draco didn't smile at the weak sally. He leant forward and said intensely, "Look, Harry don't underestimate yourself. You're really good. When you've fought as long as I have, you'll be better than I am. That sword only enhances your talent, it doesn't fabricate it."  
  
Harry shot back, "Unfortunately by the time I've fought as long as you have, you'd have fought double the time, and you'll still be better. Now if that's all you have to say, Ma…Draco, then I'd advise some shuteye. Unless you want me to keel over at practice tomorrow, that is. And if you do, then this is a low trick."  
  
Draco shook his head, his eyes still bright. "No, Harry, I do have one more thing to say. Well one more thing to do, really!" He put a gentle hand on the nape of Harry's neck, drawing the raven head down to his own silvery one, and kissed the other boy softly on the lips. It was a long kiss, Draco's lips teasing Harry's open, moving his tongue over the younger boys mouth, nibbling gently on the lower lip. It was a passionate kiss. Harry succumbed to the kiss, too shocked to react, and by the time he was beginning to regain his senses, the shorter boy, drew back and gazed at him with eyes wet with unshed tears. "I'm sorry." He gasped in a voice without any expression, a dead voice. Then he wheeled around and fled down the corridor, leaving an astonished Harry staring behind him.   
  
Well, I was on a roll and wrote the eighth and the ninth chapters together. Everybody can do me a favour and review, and if they do, I'll post tomm. Fair enough?  
  
Thanks go to:  
Mike: Thanks for the second review. As for Harry's reaction, wait till the next chap.  
  
Gwen De Paulo: It's really a sort of Draco/Harry/Ginny. You'll see what I mean. Thanks for the review  
  
Arwena: I'm afraid I can't do that. I haven't even read Cassandra Claire's trilogy, so I really couldn't have used her stuff. Anyway if it offends any sensibilites I apologize. 


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